Sleep had not come easy for William: his thoughts had been racing, hope turning to fear turning back to hope in a perpetual cycle as he ruminated on what awaited him in the morning. Nothing had succeeded in calming him; not a brisk walk around the encampment in the frigid night air, not staring up at the night sky by the ford, and especially not the cup of ale that had been thrust upon him on his way back, by someone utterly unrecognisable. William wasn't fond of alcohol but had accepted it anyway, hoping against hope that it would ease his intrusive thoughts.

  William had also tried in vain to activate his Blessing, to use its calming nature to block out his worries. It was unclear to him whether there were conditions on its activation, or he simply did not know how to achieve it. Unfortunately, this only led him to more worry: he grew concerned that he may have attempted to misuse the Blessing, spiting the Seraph. Panicked prayer ensued.

  At some point his thoughts had drifted into a more productive place, and he spent some time racking his brain on how best to resolve some of the more interpersonal problems he faced - the only ones he felt he could actually do anything about. He had come up with the perfect plan that would make amends with his friends, and also with Henry, all in one morning. He'd been pleased with himself, up until his mind wandered back to worry.

  It was sheer exhaustion that took him in the end, at some unknown hour; his weary body triumphant over a tireless mind. He awoke early for no discernible reason, feeling as though he had barely slept at all: his eyelids heavy, his body lethargic. The others in his tent were still asleep, and a thin beam of light was shining through a gap in the tent flap. I'm up in time for the plan, at least, he thought as he lay staring at the ceiling, triggering a deep grumble in his stomach.

  William got out of his bedding as usual, dressing himself in the same uniform he had been given when he enlisted. They had all been given a simple beige tunic - sadly a thinner material than that of the tents - a wool-lined surcoat to help in the colder seasons, brown hose, and black boots. They were of low quality, and the tunic in particular was ill-fitting for William: too short on the arms and too long on his torso. It had irritated his skin for the longest time, and he'd either washed out whatever was causing this or his body had simply become used to it. Seeing the clothes that morning stirred up some frustration, after his run-in with Duke Barrington - he was no longer under the delusion that the man couldn't afford more for those who fought for him.

  Ready to leave, William braced himself for the day ahead, grabbed his pouch, and exited the tent in a half-jog in defiance of his tiredness. His destination was the south edge of the encampment bordering the woodland, and he would need to get there and back quickly if his plan were to succeed. As the tents began to thin, he heard a soft trill and began to smile - it seemed Tibert had chosen to join him, and he was grateful for it. Soon enough the trees dominated his view, and he admired them as they went; the leaves were still a vibrant green, rustling pleasantly in the gentle morning wind.

  The brief journey along the woodland edge came to an end as he came across what he was looking for: stinging nettles. Never far from a bed of nettles in East Elwood, William thought gleefully, as he picked the nettle tops, using his inverted pouch as a make-shift glove in a moment of ingenuity. He gathered as many as he could and made his way back to the encampment swiftly, energised by this first small victory, Tibert close behind. The cat's presence was a silent comfort.

  As William arrived back, the encampment was thankfully still in its early stages of waking, meaning he had plenty of time left. He continued on until arriving at the fire pit nearest his tent, having lost Tibert somewhere along the way. Taking one of the nearby pots with him, he made his way over to the ford and filled it with fresh water, returning back and placing it atop a newly lit fire. Now for the tricky part.

  So began a whirlwind of small trades to various parties in the immediate area: currency, portions of what he was making, or in one case simply a promise to go easy on the man in their next spar. All of this was in service of securing ingredients, of course, for the best nettle soup William would ever make. He stood over the pot as it bubbled away, carefully adding the ingredients in calculated amounts; drawing inspiration from hazy, wholesome memories of cooking with his father in what now seemed like a past life. Leeks, onions, bread, and what little seasonings he managed to get his hands on, all made their way into his glorious creation.

  Before he knew it he was done; a warm earthly aroma filling his nose as the steam hit his face. He took an uncertain spoonful - his first taste - and blew slightly to cool it, closing his eyes to savour the full experience as the spoon entered his mouth. Within seconds a sense of accomplishment bubbled up inside of him and he let it show with a grin. Not too bad! There had been a lingering doubt in the back of William's mind, brewing alongside his troubles from the night, that it would turn out horribly: he was glad to have proven himself wrong.

  William quickly portioned out what he owed to those who had donated their share, delivering it to their tents with a spring in his step; back and forth in frequent trips until his debts were repaid. Isabella was first on his list, and so he took a bowl for her, filled it to its brim, and set out.

  Upon arrival at her tent, William exclaimed in an affectionate lilt, "Seraph give you good morrow, Sister Isabella!"

  Within a few moments Isabella opened her tent flap, and was greeted by the sight of William holding a warm, steaming bowl of nettle soup at arms length. He was barely able to contain his excitement, and it showed - the boy was giving her an endearing ear-to-ear grin. She couldn't help but smile back. In a similar cadence she replied, "Good morrow, William!"

  "I apologise for my behaviour yesterday, I did not intend for that to happen - I'm still not sure what it was... and I was so caught up in my own worries that I fear I may have been ignorant of you while I was there.

  Isabella chuckled, shaking her head with a small smile. "That's sweet of you, William, and much appreciated. All is forgiven." She had known yesterday that William was not at fault; she knew him well enough to be sure he would not scare her intentionally. "Sometimes it's nice just to enjoy a pleasant silence with pleasant company," she continued as she took the bowl from him with genuine gratitude.

  William felt a flutter in his stomach. "I'm glad you think so, Sister Isabella."

  "Though I do think we should discuss what happened with Brother Albert, another time."

  "You know Brother Albert?" William asked, shocked.

  She laughed again. "Of course I do - how many other priests do we have around?"

  William once again felt quite silly. This was becoming a common occurrence in Sister Isabella's presence. Stupid, he chided himself.

  As if she could hear his thoughts, she took a slow spoonful, teasing him with a quick raise of her eyebrows, and then reacted with full body movement and an exaggerated "mmm" as her mouth closed around the spoon, producing a laugh from William and making him forget about his previous question.

  "It was good to see you Sister Isabella, but I'm afraid I have some more soup to deliver."

  "I understand; thank you again, William - have a pleasant day," she said as she waved goodbye, spoon in hand. Isabella retreated into her tent as William left to retrieve more soup from his pot, still warm on the fire.

  William entered a panic as he returned, frantically running over to the pot: it appeared empty at first glance, but upon closer inspection it seemed as though there was just less remaining than when he'd left. Obviously one or more people had helped themselves. Thankfully there was still enough for his purposes, though he would no longer be having any himself. He wouldn't go hungry, nobody ever did, but he didn't much care for the stale bread that was handed out to those who needed it.

  He took another portion, and afterwards placed a lid on the pot and stamped out the fire. It would keep warm without it, and hopefully be less alluring to the hungry few that passed by - it was a lot less conspicuous without a roaring flame beneath, and with its aroma contained.

  He set out to his next destination, asking those he passed for directions, and eventually arrived at Henry's tent after more than a few incorrect turns. The other boy was already out of his tent, and was sitting with some other unfamiliar faces. One of them spotted William as he approached, pointing, while others jeered. William did his best to stay calm - it wouldn't do well to seem confrontational right now, and would defeat the point of coming here in the first place.

  Henry turned to face William, who involuntarily winced at the sight; an act that seemed to deepen the frown on Henry's face even further. The other boy was still injured, his face no less swollen than the last time William had seen him. If anything, it appeared to have got worse. He’s still not healed?

  William thought it would be best to speak first and defuse the tension, and so he spoke as calmly as he could, keen not to come across as condescending, "Hello, Henry. I've come to apologise for what happened the other day during our spar... It got out of hand, and I went too far. I don't know what came over me, I didn't mean to hurt you." He took a few tentative steps and offered the bowl to the other boy, trying his best to get across his sincerity. "I'm truly sorry. Here, I've brought you some soup by way of apology."

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  Henry stood suddenly, and knocked the bowl out of William's hands, spilling the soup onto the floor and scattering steam between them. "You've got some fucking nerve," he snarled at William, who took a step back in surprise and raised his arms briefly in instinctual defence. Henry's voice was hoarse. This wasn't going the way William had anticipated. "Think you can come round here with fucking soup after what you did, and make it all better? Are you a child?"

  "Yeah," came the voice of another soldier, who joined Henry in standing. William wasn't here for a fight, and wouldn't stick around for one, but even still his odds looked lower and lower.

  Henry leaned his head back and spat towards William in a smooth but exaggerated motion, like a cobra spraying its venom. "That's what I think of you and your pathetic apology!"

  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it! Truly, I-"

  "Oh yeah, course, you just try and kill him by accident?" came the voice of yet another soldier, this one seated and somehow sounding just as angry as Henry himself.

  "Then you make sure I can't get any healing, just to really seal the deal. It's a fucking joke you got Blessed, is what it is!" Henry's knuckles were white, and the boy was almost shaking with barely constrained rage. The injured boy didn't manage to contain it for long, and before William knew it he had been pushed to the ground, with Henry - and more alarmingly some of his friends - advancing slowly. "Let's see if she'll heal you again, shall we? I've waited this long, what's one more day?"

  William scrabbled backwards, trying to turn and stand. As he rose, he bumped hard into another figure that he hadn't noticed. One that was much, much too big. Henry and his posse stopped in their tracks, the wind taken out of their sails.

  "You lost, boy?" came the snarky, booming voice of Officer Axton, "Or you just come to cause more trouble?"

  William's eyes widened in fear: he was trapped. With Axton's tacit endorsement, there was no telling how far they'd go, and he wasn't sure where he'd be able to run. He simply stood there, looking up at the brute, who leaned down to William's level.

  "The bald twat won't always be here to protect you. Remember that," he whispered into William's ear with atypical calmness, sending a shiver down the boy's spine. He was more sure of this than William would have liked.

  "Now fuck off," Axton then said out loud, in a much more aggressive tone, and William ran as fast as he could without any hesitation. The sounds of laughter grew distant as he got closer to where he'd been cooking earlier that morning, and he collapsed into a sprawl on the cold ground upon arrival.

  William laid there until he caught his breath, and for a while after. Frustration and chagrin consumed his thoughts in a violent tempest, as he struggled to keep control of himself. He'd been a fool, na?ve to think that he'd be able to make amends so quickly with Henry, and with such a method. William didn't necessarily agree with the way Henry had conveyed it, but the boy had every right to be as angry as he was.

  He knew deep down that he could have done more in the spar to restrain himself had he actually tried, but he was so focused on winning that he lost sight of everything else. He felt ashamed of his behaviour, and also for having taken so long to realise it. It was also true that he'd taken up a lot of Sister Isabella's time, even if it wasn't necessarily his fault. He stood abruptly, and threw a nearby bowl at the ground in anger. It did little to quell his emotions.

  More time passed as William tried to calm himself, though he didn't know how long. Eventually, he reached some echo of emotional regularity, and reluctantly decided it was time to deliver the rest of the soup - it would soon be getting cold, after all. Hopefully Anne and Reynard would be more receptive of his apology, though he had shockingly opposite responses to go by so far.

  He portioned out the remaining soup and began to trudge his way to the bread line with sullen steps, both to pick up food for himself and to meet Anne or Reynard; both, if he was lucky. He sighed to himself as he walked. I don't think luck's really on my side, this morning.

  The queue of hungry soldiers came into view, all waiting their turn at a cart loaded with bread. His two friends sat together nearby, having already received their share. Thankfully it didn't appear that they had eaten much yet.

  "Good morrow Reynard, Anne," he said as he approached, with as much cheer as he could muster. He received an enthusiastic wave from Anne and a look of surprise from Reynard, his eyes wide and mouth agape, full of half-chewed bread. "I've brought you something a bit more filling by way of apology."

  Reynard replied before Anne had a chance, mouth still packed full and barely comprehensible, "Can't remember what you did, but fair enough! Swap ya!" He snatched a bowl from William in a shocking display of speed, leaving the boy astonished; William barely had a chance to react before the bowl had been swapped for a hard piece of bread with a large chunk taken from it.

  Anne laughed at Reynard's charming brazenness, and William passed the other bowl to Anne as he took a seat on the floor opposite them with a smile. I don't know why I ever thought they'd be mad, he thought. His friends always did wonders for his mood.

  "D'you make this, Will?" Reynard asked with a look of mild surprise, looking up at the boy who nodded in response. "Well done lad, not had something this good in bloody ages. Cheers!"

  "Yeah, thanks Will. Apology accepted," Anne added with a heartfelt smile. As angry as she tended to get in the heat of the moment, she was not one to hold a grudge - especially not with her friends. She took a spoonful herself, and gave the soup a confused and shocked look. "Apology definitely accepted," she continued, taking a second spoonful as she spoke.

  William knew they were overreacting, having tasted the food himself, but it meant a lot that they really did seem to appreciate the gesture. After what had happened with Henry, this was just about the best possible outcome he could have expected.

  "You alright Will? Seem a bit down," Anne asked, concerned.

  "Yes, I'm okay now. I had a run in with Henry, that's all."

  Reynard grimaced and inhaled loudly through his teeth, "He's not best pleased, I take it?"

  "Not at all. He threw my soup back at me, and his friend accused me of trying to kill him."

  "Oh come off it, what's he on about?" Reynard replied, confused at what he'd heard, "You went a bit overboard, but I wouldn't say you tried to kill him!"

  "He's right, Will - I bet he just needs some time to cool off," Anne added with a nod of agreement, "Once he's had some healing, he'll change tune and realise."

  "Hmm. I hope so," was all William said in return. He didn't feel much like continuing to talk about this, or even to mention how narrowly he'd escaped without a beating.

  Reynard, seemingly able to sense this, changed the topic, "So, Will, since you missed dinner, we're dying to know more about this Blessing of yours!"

  Anne nodded in agreement as she ate, clearly just as interested in hearing about it as Reynard.

  "It's a Blessing of focus, apparently. It's difficult to describe..." William said as he tried his best to collect his thoughts, scratching the side of his chin. "It's as though I have more time to process information in the moment, if that makes any sense?"

  "Explains the name," Reynard nodded sagely, as though it wasn't a terrible joke. "I thought you were going for a martial Blessing though?" he added, earning an irritated side-eye from Anne and a frown from William.

  "It's not something you can control, Rey, you get what you're given," she said with a roll of her eyes.

  "I suppose it does explain it," William said with a half-hearted laugh. "I actually found it quite useful in the spar with Henry, but I didn't even realise parts of what I was doing... I just got swept away in the motions, and didn't notice I was hurt."

  "Just hurt, he says? You had a bloody bone stick out your wrist, how can you not notice that?" Anne said, in disbelief at William's account.

  "I honestly didn't even feel it," he shrugged in reply, straining to take a bite from his bread.

  "Nothing you can't work on, especially with Isabella to look after you," Reynard offered, with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

  "True enough," William said, remembering what both Brother Albert and Sister Isabella had mentioned, "the Seraph gave me this Blessing for a reason. I just need to figure out why, and rise to the challenge."

  "Well, we believe in you Will," Anne said, though William could see that it looked like she had more to say, her mouth having opened but closed again as she caught herself.

  "What is it, Anne?"

  She thought for a second, with a somewhat worried look, before she continued in a more hushed tone. "Did you... see them? The Seraph, I mean - when they gave you the Blessing?"

  "I don't remember seeing anything," William said sadly. He couldn't help but feel a little shame at the admission; was he not virtuous enough for the Seraph to visit him directly? Why would they Bless him, if not? All his life it'd been hammered into him: he'd been told tall tales of the Seraph descending from the sky, bathing the newly Blessed in a column of light; been sung songs by common folk and bard alike about the unbelievable spectacle of bestowment; heard whispers of the Seraph intervening in battles, leading the righteous to victory... yet his experience was the polar opposite: awkward, fleeting, mundane. "I heard something, as though it was in my head, and I just... knew. I don't really remember anything else, it was all so sudden."

  Anne didn't seem upset by his words, which caught William off guard - he had been expecting her to be let down at the lack of spectacle. Instead, she just gave him a small shrug as though she had already known what his answer would be. Maybe she's already come to terms with it? he thought.

  "Suppose they'll send you off soon, can't be having the Blessed mingling with us too long," Reynard said with a roll of his eyes, having already finished his soup. He threw his bowl to the side lazily, and it clattered as it hit the floor.

  "Thankfully not, though I won't be training with you for a while. Brother Albert will be training me starting today."

  "Brother Whobert?" Reynard asked. Anne looked sick of hearing him speak. William suspected Reynard must have been like this all morning, and if so he couldn't blame her.

  "Brother Albert - he's a priest that the Duke introduced me to yesterday who told me about my Blessing," William explained, "that's why I couldn't meet you for supper." This only seemed to raise more questions, and before long he was relaying the events of the evening all the way from the beginning. The pair listened intently, becoming visibly concerned as he described his terrifying experience with Brother Albert's strange ability.

  Reynard let out a whistle as the story concluded, faking a shiver as he said, "He sounds like a right scary bastard - you best be careful around him, Will."

  "I dunno, I think he deserves a drink or two for bringing the Duke down a peg," Anne retorted, getting a laugh from Reynard and William.

  "Can't say I'll miss you during spars, but the rest won't be the same without you," Reynard said, and gave William a playful hit on the shoulder. Nobody was fooled by his joke, however; they all knew that he really would be sad to see William go.

  "For all we know I may be back soon, or perhaps I'll still need to train with everybody else on occasion," he said, unsure of whether or not he truly believed it.

  "You can do it, Will," Anne said as she stood once again. "We best be off, looks like everyone's off to training." She indicated towards some of the people behind William, who were beginning to walk away into the sea of tents, with a nod of her head.

  William and Reynard joined her off of the ground, and the duo said their goodbyes to William with hugs that were far longer than the usual.

  As Reynard and Anne left, and William made his way over to the pavilion, he reflected on his morning. Perhaps I needn't worry so much, he thought with a smile.